


A Higher Court

by BaggedGenreNovel (dzen)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 69, Ancestors, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, Gen, Justice, Law Enforcement, Mild Gore, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Psionics, Revolution, angry flirting, no actual hooking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzen/pseuds/BaggedGenreNovel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supercedes all other courts." -Mahatma Gandhi </p><p>Redglare apprehends another victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Higher Court

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomaffection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomaffection/gifts).



Junior Legislacerator Pyrope pauses, cocks her head to one side, and leans down to get a good look at her captive.

"Hmmm? Whaaaaaat?" she drawls. Behind her, at the entrance to the narrow crevasse, Pyralspite rumbles low in her throat. The dragon’s burning gaze is fixed upon the prisoner’s face, waiting for a chance to blind him.

"I-" he breaks off to spit out another mouthful of blood, and -oh hey, a tooth! nice!- glares at her, eyes still scrunched closed. "shit- I said, you don't have to do this."

Latula hoots with laughter. Oh, that was almost _cute!_ "Oh, _babe_ . My little miscreant, where do you think we _are_ ?" She pats his cheek affectionately with the tip of her blade, and reaches for the cuffs again. He flinches away. "HR would give me _such_ a thrashing if I came home empty handed on my second patrol!"

"Kinky," he sneers.

She snickers, and knees him in the stomach. As he doubles over she snatches up his left arm, and slaps a cuff on his wrist. Smoothly twisting him around to secure his right as well, she cuffs both behind his back. A stream of swearing and coughing erupts from the criminal as the psionic dampeners take hold. He thrashes, and strains away, trying to headbutt her. Latula grins. The cuffs are only low grade dampeners, but he didn't seem to have much juice in the first place. She raps him firmly on the back of the head with her cane, and he sparks, stumbles, and slumps against her.

Now that she can get a decent grip on him, Latula begins to haul her catch back towards the mouth of the ravine. Pyralspite rumbles in anticipation.

"Fuck!" he rasps, and though he doesn't have the energy to struggle, he does have enough to dig his heels in. "I'm so fucking shit at the talking garbage, as if it matters anyway.” He swivels his head and spits, barely missing her face, “GO PAIL YOUR LUSUS, and leave me _alone_!" 

"Now-oof-now, honeytongue, it's nothing personal," Latula grunts. "But I can't have lawbreakers running around on my watch!"

He spits again, twisting further to try and aim it, but missing by a mile this time. "What the fuck did we even do? Hunting without a lusus? Loiterrorizing? Criminal fucking good looks?"

That one has Latula laughing again.  "Buttercup, I will admit you have potential, but crime does not add to the appeal.” she pokes her face over his shoulder and gives his face a playful sniff. “Not with _your_ adorable bony bod!" She pulls away again, and heaves him back a few more steps. "This is strictly business, gotcha?" 

"Sniff my nook while you’re at it, I swear I shit candy!" he snarls. He leers at her sideways, wild eyed. "Or how about you lick my bulge? Take off the cuffs and I'll take care of _all_ your business!" 

"Pyralspite, get ready to grab," Latula calls. "You know," She remarks as she yanks her catch the last few steps towards the mouth of the ravine, "it's a shame you're a dirty rotten lawbreaker."

He snorts, "Yeah, shame _you_ can't stop swooning over the fucking law to notice that _justice_ is riding with the rebels. Gl'bgolyb's tits, if you ever heard it from Kankri you'd fucking get it."

"Kankri?" she asks, distracted. He doesn’t reply. Something twigs. Her mind flashes back to a shadow she’d half noticed-no… a figure in a cloak! Slinking away just as she'd engaged the psionic! Latula hisses. She opens her mouth, just as Pyralspite’s huge jaws dart forwards, and the psionic gives a sudden downward _wrench_.

In a flash of a second she's whipped out her sword, but it’s already too late.

A blast of blue and red psionics, far stronger than anything he'd displayed during their earlier fight, smashes into her chest and throws her to the ground, and _ow! Fuck! Where did that rock_ _come from?_ With a crack the dampener cuffs explode, and shrapnel slices past her. Ears ringing and head pounding, Latula struggles to her feet, whirling towards her prey. Pyralspite is roaring, straining to reach further into the tight space. The dragon is aiming around Latula, and Latula hurls herself backwards to make way for her Lusus’s fire. The psionic, whose attention had been on her, turns instead to meet Pyralspite's stare head on. Twin beams of concentrated power pierce the dragon's eyes, even as he raises a hand to simultaneously blast her snout.

In seconds it is over and he is off, shot into the sky like a rocket. 

"Well," says Latula, brushing herself off. She watches him fade into the distance as Pyralspite screeches and claws her snout. "That was _diverting_."

She cackles to herself, and pats her dragonmum on the shoulder. They’ll catch up. Eventually. The law always does.

 

* * *

  
Damn, but she has to admit, the guy can preach! Standing up on that platform, raining scandalous illegalities down into the crowd’s thirsty auricular spongeclots. He smells like spice and poison, all that red wrapped up in a rough grey cloak. The rebels to either side of Latula roar. The Legilieutenant smiles.

Maneuver One is going beautifully!

Latula threads further into the crowd, inching closer to the stage. Taking a deep whiff to check her commander is still nearby, she directs her focus back to the speaker and his entourage, affecting a look of rapt contemplation. She's barely acting. Playing the attentive listener is easy when she’s actually intrigued. Oh, his rabble could never win. Not against the Highbloods, and the Courts, and the glorious Condesce. But… he has some _interesting_ things to say about justice. That’s all.

She’s waiting for her signal when the _other_ guy on stage, the "Psiioniic", finally spots her. His eyes widen in recognition, and he immediately begins to subtly scan the crowd. He leans close to the jadeblooded Deserter, muttering.

Latula should probably raise the alarm. She should at least alert her commander to the possible complication. But. Well. They really _are_ some _crazy_ theories about burden of proof. Very distracting stuff.

When a pulse of blue and red suddenly whisks the entire stage into the air and away, her commander screams in rage. Latula grins like a shark, and claps the nearest revolutionary in irons.

 

* * *

 

Everything smells sour. Even the coals. The wars are finally over, and she is so relieved.

The Criminal’s companions are struggling. Crying. The troll himself is still yammering on, and Latula doesn’t get it, why he won’t just _shut up!_ Isn’t he _tired_ of thinking he can win?

When he screams for the last time, cursing them all, she is sure the whole audience flinches. Once, this would have been Latula’s favourite moment. _Justice is served._ Now… now she thins her lips, and her whole skin tingles like ice. Her knuckles where she grips her staff are white.

They pull and prod the fritzing psionic past the corpse of his friend. He twitches and jerks. Someone, maybe a guard, titters uncertainly, and jeers. Soon the entire crowd is joining in, shakily at first, then howling. Recovering. The execution is over, and they are all so relieved.

Latula turns her face away. Everything smells sour.

 

* * *

“You don’t have to do this!” The brownblood screeches, cowering beneath upraised hands. The sleek blade halts mid-swing, hovering over the symbol they form. High Inquistor Redglare regards the three fugitives huddled before her. The orangeblood is unconscious, but the maroon stares back, blank and hopeless. The brown is frozen, gaze glued to the hairs-width of air between sharp metal and his hands. He swallows hard, but does not move.

Pyralspite growls softly. Latula sighs. “I’m sorry, kid,” is the only warning she gives before she hacks off his left arm.

His scream is hoarse and terrible. His blood spurts out and drenches the dirt. Before the little thud of the limb hitting the ground has reached her, Latula is already moving towards the maroon.

“Can you fly?” she asks. The maroon stares back at her, dumbly, and Latula loses patience. With a _*snickt*_ her sword is moving again, and, _ha, not so quiet now_. The maroon clutches the stump of her knee, keening hysterically. Latula has already moved on to their fallen companion. Unceremoniously she relieves him of three fingers, waving his hand near the ground to splatter the blood around.

She retrieves the other limbs, and stomps back towards her dragonmum, ignoring the wailing victims. She holds out the maroon’s leg first. Delicately, Pyralspite stretches out her neck and closes her jaws around the cleanly sheared stump. The dragon crunches down, mauling the edges of the cut and crushing the bone, before releasing it again. Latula inspects the wreckage, and nods, satisfied that there is nothing to show that it was sliced off rather than torn from her dragon's maw. They do the same to the arm, then Latula tucks both, along with the fingers, into Pyralspite’s saddlebag.

She turns to find the fugitives staring at her.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” she demands.

The maroonblood opens her mouth as if to protest, then grits her jaw and gathers her telekinetics. In moments she has staunched their wounds, and the brown has the orange hoisted over his good shoulder. He turns to Latula.

“Thank you, sister! Thank you!”

Latula says nothing.

As the brownblood turns to leave, the maroon floats up to Latula. She rips something from around her throat and thrusts it at Latula. Latula takes it.

It’s a necklace.

Latula looks up. The maroon is still there.

“I did,” says Latula. “I did have to.”

"Yeah,” says the girl, and vanishes into the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit appreciated. :) Thank you for reading!
> 
> randomaffection, I hope it was more or less what you were after. Happy Ancestral Anthology! ^_^
> 
> Image from Homestuck (Andrew Hussie), source: http://www.mspaintadventures.com/scratch.php?s=6&p=005956


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